A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(36)

Thunder rumbled, the ground shaking as if furious at this sham. The new Feral threw back his head with a look of surprise and dawning excitement. Then he disappeared in a flash of colored lights, shifting into his animal for the first time. A moment later, an unnaturally large wolverine stood in the middle of the rock, snarling. And a moment after that, he was a man again, fully clothed, a look on his face entirely different from the one he’d worn before. Gone was the fear. In its place, evil slid across eyes gone cold.

Kara swayed, feeling suddenly clammy and light-headed.

Croc grabbed her arm, tight enough to leave bruises. “Back to your room, Radiant.”

At least if she stumbled, there would be someone to catch her. Tears burned her eyes. If only that someone were her beloved Lyon.

Lyon, where are you?

But no one answered.

Melisande clung to Fox, her arm wrapped around his thickly corded neck, his soft hair brushing her cheek as she shattered. Emotions locked beneath the ice flayed her alive. The grief. The crushing guilt. Pain.

Only the panic had eased, lessened momentarily by the strength of Fox’s arms. Her thudding heart merely raced now, the terror no longer trying to claw its way out of her throat. But the white fear was far from gone because she couldn’t mist. She couldn’t defend herself.

Trapped. Again. The last time . . .

Memories rose up, and with them a terror that stole her breath. She felt weak, sick at her stomach. She had to mist, had to escape. She would not be captured again!

“You’re safe, Mel,” Fox said quietly against her temple.

“If the Mage find us . . .”

He pulled back, forcing her to look at him. Too close, his sky blue gaze gripped her, forcing her to hear him, to believe him. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” Pain radiated through those eyes, his jaw tensing.

“I’m still hurting you. My energy.”

His mouth twisted ruefully, and she found herself admiring the strong curve of his jaw and its light dusting of golden beard stubble. “Your energy isn’t all pleasure this time, that’s for sure.” That stubbled chin brushed her temple. “But it’s not your fault.”

It was the fault of the Mage and their warding. But his low voice soothed, and she found herself holding on to him harder, his warm, masculine scent wrapping her in a sensual cocoon that almost . . . almost made her feel safe.

But safety of any kind was an illusion.

The emotions tore at her, and she struggled to contain them, to control them. She couldn’t live with them, not this way. Not this way. Too much.

“Bloody hell,” Fox muttered.

Melisande opened her eyes, peering in the direction he was looking and stilled, stunned as she stared at the beautiful lake far below, sparkling beneath the sunny sky.

“What’s the matter?”

“This is the way we came.”

She frowned. “There was no lake the way we came.”

“Precisely.”

“Are we lost?”

“Not lost, no. I have an excellent sense of direction, and I know exactly where we should be. It has to be more of the mountain’s magic.” He turned his face, once more brushing her temple with his stubbled chin. “I’m going to put you down. I want to take a look around and try to pick up our trail. I need to shift.”

He lowered her to the ground atop a soft bed of leaves and moss beneath a tall oak. But the moment he released her, she began to shake again, the panic crawling up her throat. What if the magic swept him away?

“Mel?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

He eyed her for a moment more, then nodded. “I won’t be out of your sight.”

In a flash of sparkling lights, he shifted, then began sniffing, moving slowly away.

Melisande clutched her knees to her chest, shivering from a cold that burrowed deep inside of her as if the shards of shattered ice were rising to the surface. Phylicia’s face, her death mask, blazed across her mind, searing her with loss and a fury too deep to voice. Ever since that first alliance between Ferals and Ilinas a thousand years ago, the Mage had been determined to destroy the mist warriors. They’d taken one, now. And what of Ariana and Brielle? Would Jag reach them in time to warn them, to keep them from suffering the same fate?

Fear for them pressed down on her until she could hardly breathe, until she felt as if a Feral stood on her chest, crushing her.

She struggled for control, struggled to feel nothing, as her gaze followed the huge red fox. Finally, he shifted back to human form. As he started back, Melisande pushed herself to her feet, then sank back down when her legs refused to hold her.

A moment later, Fox was at her side, gripping her arm carefully. His brows drew down, the back of his hand pressing against her cheek. “You’re like ice.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his thick warm arms around her. Palming her head, he pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

Her warrior’s pride demanded she push him away. Instead, she shuddered with relief and curled into his warmth. For just a few minutes, she told her pride. I need this.

“You’re still shaking like a leaf. You’re in shock, Mel,” he said quietly. “You can cry you know.” His nose nudged her forehead. “I won’t tell.”

She almost smiled. “I don’t remember how to cry.” As the moments passed, and she soaked in the warmth and strength of Fox’s arms, her tremors slowly calmed. But as her own tension melted, she began to feel his. Not a warrior’s alert tenseness, but pain.